The Lover's Remorse

I was high on the novelty of Autumn when I accepted a date with Cameron Holt.

Next year, I'm wearing a clothespin to avoid the smell of cinnamon and pumpkin spice and blinders to avoid all the photogenic couples that I’m not a part of. 

Don't misunderstand me, I'm single the rest of the year, too. There's just something about FALL that contributed to my sense of isolation.

Cameron Holt. He was handsome and charming.

There I was in line at my favorite cafe, loneliness draped over me like a blanket.

When he casually asked me out, I answered “yes” as though I were possessed.

As a final touch, Cameron stepped forward and bought my coffee.

I was enamored. And practically indebted to him for enabling my caffeine addiction.

A trip to the corn maze after sunset the following Friday sounded romantic at that moment. 

When Friday came, I felt a little uneasy because this had all been too, well, easy.

I didn’t really know Cameron. 

My mind was filling in the blanks because I wanted to be part of the two crowds. I wanted to say yes at the Thanksgiving table when distant relatives asked if I was seeing anyone. I wanted to share something post-worthy. 

Cameron honked the horn from the driveway to let me know he was waiting. 

That was a little rude, I thought, but still my heart skipped a beat when I saw him checking his oh-so-perfect hair in the rearview mirror. Forgiven and forgotten.

After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Cameron didn’t really ask me any personal questions. 

He made general statements about the scenery. He gave me a routine comment on my appearance. He talked about himself. 

I hoped the evening would improve.

Lock Stalk N’ Barrel’s Corn Maze was over an hour away. 

Cameron insisted on this one above the others that were closer because it claimed to be haunted. In fact, the whole town claimed to be haunted.

Give me any one of the local, family-friendly corn mazes any day. Nothing wrong with a corn cannon, petting zoo, and trampoline. 

I’m a kid at heart and not one for pranks or ghost stories.  

After I spoke up, I quickly realized he didn’t care about what I wanted.

“It will be fun.” Cameron assured me. 

As we pulled into the parking lot, I was quickly distracted by a sign on the way in, Fresh Coffee & Donuts.

“Isn’t this place amazing?” Cameron emphasized.

He didn’t wait for an answer but pulled out his phone to take a picture of the two of us.

“Cheese!” Click.

The picture was great. It was golden hour, our clothes were complementary tones, we were both smiling, cheek to cheek.

That’s when it hit me. The picture was perfect, but it was one dimensional. I didn’t feel nearly as happy or content or close to Cameron as the picture portrayed. 

What if all the pictures and posts from my friends were as empty as mine?

As soon as I had finished my donut and Cameron had posted the phony picture, he dragged me through the crowds toward the maze itself.

Here I am, the girl who nearly jumps out of her skin when my waffle pops out of the toaster, being taken, against my will, toward an ominous field as the sky darkened. 

A sign let us know we were close: Haunted Husks This Way

I dug in my heels at the entrance, nearly spilling my coffee. 

“What?” Cameron asked.

“I’m not going in.”

“Oh, come on, I’ll hold your hand.” Something told me that line had worked for him in the past. 

Not today. “Go ahead, I’ll wait here.”

Jaw clenched; he went in without me.

Following his return, he made it clear that he wasn’t going to let me off easy. His tone was edgy and impatient.  

I couldn’t wait to be home. It was getting late, and I felt drained.

“Please take me home.” 

I interrupted his description of the morbid decorations in the maze.

“Fine.” 

This had all been a bad idea.

We were arguing about everything at this point, including which way to turn out of the parking lot.

Cameron wouldn’t listen to my instructions causing us to miss the lane that merged onto the highway.

As he drove on, I plugged my home address into Google Maps.

Before we could make a U-turn, we encountered construction detours.

It seemed as though we were straying farther away from the highway. 

The streetlights became farther apart until the only thing illuminating the road besides the headlights was moonlight.

The town, as ridiculous as it sounded, did feel spooky. 

Fog gathered around the vehicle. 

Cameron talked to soothe his own nerves and soon began to get on mine. 

“Where are we?” “Great! No service.” “I know the highway is around here somewhere.”

A few huge drops of rain splattered across the windshield. A torrential rainstorm followed.

It became so loud that I could no longer hear Cameron’s complaints.

“We should pull over!”

“What?”

“WE SHOULD PULL OVER!”

“WHAT?”

Before I could repeat myself for the third time, we hit a pothole causing the rear right tire to explode with a resounding POP.

The car swerved, coming to a screeching halt at the side of the road.

Cameron pulled his hoodie over his head and darted out of the car to fix the tire.  

Once he was back inside the vehicle, he inserted the key into the ignition. The car revved before sputtering out completely.

He twisted the key a second time and a third, before smacking the steering wheel in frustration. 

“Come on!” 

I attempted to call for help before remembering that there was no service.

“We’re going to have to walk to find help and somewhere to stay.” 

I groaned, “You’re right. Let’s go.”

After walking through the rain for what felt like hours, (but in reality, was only a few minutes,) a bolt of lightning revealed the most terrifying old house that I had ever seen in my life. 

The name of the place was equally terrifying: The Lover’s Remorse. Cue thunder.

“We can stay here!” Cameron sounded relieved. I was anything but relieved.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a small step forward.

The door creaked in protest as Cameron opened it. It was slightly warmer inside, but there was still an overall damp feeling.

No one greeted us. We awkwardly stood for a moment before Cameron struck the bell on the front desk.

I once again took in the room before returning my eyes to the front desk.

“A terrible night to be out.”

Cameron and I both nearly jumped out of our skin.

A tall, wrinkled man stood behind us. He walked over behind the desk. 

At his pace, I couldn’t explain how he had appeared so suddenly and quietly behind us. Why hadn’t we heard the floor creaking or the man’s bones crackle and snap?

Cameron recovered before I did. 

“We’re having some car trouble; do you know a mechanic?”

“Yeah, but he’s not going to come out in weather like this.”

“Right. Well, looks like we’re going to need a place to stay the night.”

The thought of staying overnight made me shiver.

The man shrugged, “I might have something available.”

He pulled out a heavy ledger from under the desk and dropped it unceremoniously onto the counter before blowing a thick sheet of dust off of it.

I coughed and tried to wave away the cloud of dust. “We only need two rooms, nothing fancy,” 

Finally, the man looked up and met my eye, ignoring Cameron altogether. His tone softened.

“Yes, my dear, I think I have two rooms left.” 

“I’m Mr. Simmons, owner of the Lover's Remorse. We have a curfew, ten pm, of course, it’s past that now.” 

He gave us a stained brochure and old-fashioned turnkeys with numbers engraved in the stems. 

When he handed me mine, he pressed into my hand a moment longer than necessary. 

“I’d encourage you to stay in your room. Many visitors have complained about strange noises in the night.”

Mr. Simmons gave instructions on how to get to the rooms and sent us up with - get this - two oil lamps.

“Sorry about all this.” Cameron said sheepishly. 

“Yeah, me too. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

He leaned in as though to kiss me.

I quickly retreated into my room, shut the door in his face, and locked it. “Good night, Cameron.”

My room had a high ceiling, a four-poster bed, floor length curtains, and mysterious taxidermy.

It was almost charming, aside from the mysterious stains on the carpet and ceiling and overall musk.  

I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. There was an impressive willow tree behind the mansion. A flash of lightning revealed two gravestones underneath it.

To bed I went, there surely the monsters couldn’t get me.

I was almost asleep when I heard the soft click of the door releasing from its lock and opening. 

My eyes flew open. I distinctly remembered shutting the door and locking it. 

Through the crack of the open door, I saw a glimmer of light disappearing down the hallway.

A moment of silence passed. The wind gently howled through a crack in the window.

After securing the door, I retreated to my bed and tried to distract myself with a game on my phone. This reminded me of yet another problem, my battery level was low. 

I checked my purse for the charger, but then I remembered I’d left it in the car.

The jump from 15% to 14% was the deciding factor. I had to find my charger - fast. 

I reached out for the doorknob but before I could turn it, it opened all on its own with the same maddening click.

I cautiously peered out into the hall, first left, then right. I was alone, hopefully.

The stairs were in sight. I put my hand out to grab the railing when I felt a warm breath on my neck.

“Cameron! I didn’t hear you.” 

My heart was pounding. 

Was he the one who’d unlocked and opened my door?

“Are you okay?”

No answer. He was freaking me out. There was something different about him. Besides the fact that he was mute, his eyes looked a little hazy and whatever sense of personal space he had was long gone.

“Cameron?”

No answer.

I was torn between agitated and spooked. “I need the car keys; I’m going to get my phone charger.”

Slowly, he pulled the keys out of his jeans pocket and held them out to me. I stepped back, nearly falling backwards down the stairs to avoid him hitting me in the face. 

Now, they dangled in front of my nose. What was his problem?

I snatched them away.

He stood looming at the top of the stairs as I made my way down.

My unease was growing.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle. My clothes were still damp from the walk to the house.

As I made my way toward the car, I had the sneaking suspicion that I was being followed.

After I found my charger under the seat, I all but ran back to the house.

Before I reached the porch, I felt drawn to go back to the tree I’d seen from my bedroom window.

The willow tree was far more beautiful the closer I came to it. The limbs blew gently in the wind.

Then my eyes came to the gravestones. They were as tall as I was with an extravagant engraving that read:

Moriah L. Morse

Loving mother, devoted wife

1910-1975

Just before my fingers could caress the cold stone, a voice startled me out of my trance.

“It calls to you, don’t it?”

Mr. Simmons.

I screeched. “Ya know, you could’ve just said hello a few feet ago.”

“My apologies, force of habit.”

I nodded toward the gravestone, “Who is she?”

“Moriah L. Morse, once the mistress of the Lover’s Remorse.”

Suddenly, I wanted to confide in him.

“The guy I came with has been acting,” I struggled to find the right word.

By the time I found the right word, Mr. Simmons had come up with a word of his own. 

I said, “Unusual.” 

He said, “Possessed.”

“Did you just say possessed?”

“Yes, it’s the spirit of Moriah Morse. It has a strange effect on men.”

Mr. Simmons suggested we go inside and dry off.

Once we were inside and in front of a roaring fire, he continued. 

“He’s actually more himself than you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could say that Cameron’s been possessed by the worst version of himself. Everything he would try to hide to make himself look

better to you is now exposed.”

“What does Moriah Morse want with Cameron?”

“It’s not him, it’s you. She’s trying to save you.”

“Me!?”

“The late Moriah Morse was a fine woman. She had many suitors.”

“Her life changed when she met Daniel Morse. He was handsome and charming. Their mutual attraction led to a whirlwind romance and matrimony.” 

Cameron entered the room, staring at me with an unblinking gaze.

It was just another night for Mr. Simmons who vanished for a few minutes before returning with hot cocoa and cookies.

“After their vows were exchanged and the guests had gone home, his character seemed to shift. Daniel wasn’t the person Moriah thought he was and on the night of their wedding, she realized her mistake.”

I sipped the cocoa, enthralled in this real-life ghost story.

“Moriah was devastated. Caught up in an infatuation, Moriah didn’t consider his faults. Either he had hidden them, or she had overlooked them. Maybe both.”

“Moriah was a faithful wife; she was good to Daniel. They had one child.” 

“On her deathbed, she swore she’d do all she could to protect other unsuspecting women from the same fate as hers.”

“It’s her spirit that wanders the Lover’s Remorse.” 

“Let me get this straight. Couple comes to stay, boy gets possessed, girl breaks it off while she still can?”

“Not always. Some women already know the man’s character and settle for it. Others feel a need to save the man. Sometimes, it’s the man who needs to be saved.”

Cameron stood and I was tempted to hide under the blanket on the back of the chair.

The whish whoosh of Cameron’s steps was like nails on a chalkboard.

“You don’t seem very fazed by any of this.”

I shrugged. Using my spoon, I scooped out a marshmallow. 

“I’ve been single for a long time. I tend to see a lot of incompatibilities. Most people think of me as a cynic, I think of myself as a realist.”

“Cameron and I aren’t together together. Honestly, I don’t even really like him.” 

There, I said it.

“Loneliness is a possession all its own.” 

“Did you ever marry, Mr. Simmons?”

His eyes softened, “No. However, as a family friend, I was chosen to be the caretaker. Her great grandson, Harry Morse owns it.”

“The spell doesn’t affect you?”

“I’ve never had a sweetheart to disappoint.”

“Are you lonely, Mr. Simmons?”

He winked at me, “I have my fair share of visitors to keep me company and many damsels in distress to comfort."

I smiled in return.

Cameron was now hovering over me. I fended him away with a cool fire poker.

“So how long does the spell last?” 

“Depends on the person. The more they hide their true identity, the more exhausted they are. Usually sleep overtakes them.”

Cameron had returned to the couch while we were talking. We both tilted our heads as we looked over to see him fast asleep. He began to snore.

“And how much do they remember?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

The following morning, I awoke back in my room. Not sure how I got there, maybe I’d never left. Maybe I dreamt everything.

A knock sounded at the door. 

It was Cameron, “Hey, breakfast is ready and I’m starving! Are you coming?”

His voice had returned to normal. It was as though nothing had happened.

Breakfast was served downstairs by Mr. Simmons.

It was a wonderful spread of food, but the conversation was clumsy.

Mr. Simmons gave Cameron the number of a mechanic to call.

Thankfully, the mechanic was able to come right away.

“We should be able to get on the road in a few hours.”

“Thanks Cameron, but my mom is coming to pick me up.” 

I had texted her when I woke up and knew she’d arrive any minute now.

“What?” 

I re-explained. “I’m not driving home with you, Cameron. I’m not going anywhere with you ever again.”

“Wow. You’re still upset about last night.” 

“I don’t even like you, Cameron. And, if you’re being honest with yourself and with me, I’d say you don’t really like me, either.”

My statement was answered by silence.

“We only spent time together because we were lonely. Loneliness is a possession all its own.”

“Good-bye, Cameron.”

Cameron left out the front door, letting the door slam behind him.

Mr. Simmons came out of the shadows, “Well, that’s that.” 

“That’s that.” I repeated. It was a bittersweet moment.

“I’d like to show you something.” Mr. Simmons led me to a den at the back of the house. A beautiful portrait hung in the room.

“Moriah Morse.”

Before he said the name, I knew who it was. I felt drawn to the painting, just as I had to the headstone.

“It’s not about finding someone you can live with,” Mr. Simmons shared. “It’s about finding someone you can’t live without.”

“Thank you, Mr. Simmons, for everything.”

Driving away from the Lover’s Remorse, I considered Mr. Simmon’s words: “It’s not about finding someone you can live with; it’s about finding someone you can’t live without.”

The thought gave me hope.